


Smoke Break

by artemisscribe



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Funeral, Grieving, Underage Smoking, big brother little brother dynamic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 22:39:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15828369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artemisscribe/pseuds/artemisscribe
Summary: When his mother's funeral becomes too much for Scott he disappears to the barn with a pack of stolen cigarettes and his feelings.





	Smoke Break

It’s not raining. And that’s pissing him off. Scott always assumed that if something this tragic ever happened to him that it would be raining. Like in the movies. That thing Mrs Duffy had told them about when they were reading Jane Eyre in AP English. 

 

He puts his cigarette between his teeth so he can dig his phone out of his pocket and look it up, that word for when the weather matches your mood. He has to laugh when he sees the phrase staring back at him from the search results.  _ Pathetic Fallacy _ . Sounds about right. He feels pretty fucking pathetic right now, hiding in the barn, smoking stolen cigarettes and being mad because it’s a nice day.

 

It’s been unseasonably warm. Mountain rescue told Dad that’s probably what caused the sheet of snow to dislodge from the mountain above the road. 

 

He wishes it was raining. If it were raining Alan wouldn’t have spotted him from the kitchen door and come racing across the yard to him. 

 

Scott briefly considers stubbing out his cigarette so Allie won’t snitch on him, but he’s only just lit this one and he probably reeks of smoke anyway.

 

“Is that a cigarette?” Alan asks

 

“Yup” Scott says, exhaling smoke over his little brother’s head to drive the point home. 

 

Alan wrinkles his nose as he wafts the smoke away,

 

“Dad will be mad at you.”

 

“I really don’t give a fuck Allie” Scott sighs, ignoring his brother in order to scroll through his phone. 

 

In any other situation the shocked little squeak Alan lets out at the dropping of an F bomb would be funny. Right now Scott just finds his brother irritating.

 

“Right now Alan,if it’s not about Mom or Grandpa, Dad doesn’t want to know.”

 

A dreadful silence follows. Then a pathetic sniff.  

 

When Scott looks up Alan’s eyes are brimming with tears.

 

“No,” Scott says, “Alan don’t cry. It’s just… Dad’s very sad right now okay. Even more sad than we are.”

 

“But he’ll get better?” Alan asks

 

“I… I think so.” Scott says, lifting his cigarette back up to his lips. 

 

But he stops himself. He feels like a dick for smoking around Alan now so he turns to stub it out on the wall behind him.

 

“Scott!”

 

Oh god how he wishes it was raining as his father’s voice rings out across the yard. Dad has excellent eyesight, and his suit reeks of smoke. He might of told Alan that Dad wouldn’t care, but he’s starting to sweat as Jeff approaches, frozen to the spot, unable to hide his cigarette.

 

“Is that what I think it is?” Jeff asks as he reaches the barn, absentmindedly ruffling Alan’s hair.

 

“Sorry” Scott says, handing over the cigarette sheepishly, “I’m just-”   
  


“Thank fuck” Jeff sighs, plucking the cigarette from Scott’s hands and taking a long drag, “This is all I’ve wanted for the last two weeks.”

 

He closes his eyes to savour the nicotine hit so it’s a few seconds before he opens them again and sees the twin looks of shock on his sons’ faces.

 

“I had a life before you kids you know” he says, before his smile gets sad and tired, “Your mother made me quit.”

 

“On your own for two weeks and already breaking all her rules” Scott jokes weakly.

 

“You’ll have to keep me in line from now on” Jeff tells him, before looking out across the farmyard. “I guess it could be worse” he says eventually.

 

Scott lets out a sharp, bitter laugh,

 

“How? How on earth could any of this be worse?”

 

Jeff finishes the cigarette, staring across at the trees that hide the family burial plot from view.

 

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, “It could be raining?”


End file.
